


Knight In Shining Armour

by elfin



Series: Knight In Shining Armour [1]
Category: Backstrom (TV)
Genre: Half-Sibling Incest, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 16:11:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5096945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfin/pseuds/elfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a sound he'd heard before, and one he couldn't ever un-hear. The sound of Gregory Valentine crying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knight In Shining Armour

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING - First scene is set following non-consensual sex. No details are given but this may be a trigger. Please be aware.  
> WARNING - Mentions of non-consensual sex, abuse, torture and rape throughout the fic, but only as referenced in the show. No details.  
> WARNING - contains consensual and loving sex between half-brothers

It was a sound he'd heard before, and one he couldn't ever un-hear. The sound of Gregory Valentine crying.

He was used to being woken by grunts from Valentine’s room. He was used to coming home to groans and cries, to pleas of ‘harder’. This was so different. This reminded him of the words he heard in his nightmares, Moto’s voice: “Valentine got beat up pretty bad", the sight of Valentine bleeding in the back of the squad car, the drugs in his bloodstream making him crazy, driving Backstrom to face off with the crazy dealer in the back of the ambulance, to threaten a guy twice his size with death if anything happened to Val.

That wasn't him. He didn't threaten drug dealers, he definitely didn't defend his tenant’s criminal activities or risk his own neck for the idiot's safety. He didn't get involved in complicated situations that might turn sticky, and not in a good way.

So for a minute he stood statue still at the base of the steps and considered his options. Was this something he wanted to get involved in? Really? Valentine might have simply been dumped, nothing more sinister than that. Except that Valentine didn't do relationships. He did one night stands, quick liaisons. He did shit that was going to get him killed.

But he was family, as it turned out. His half-brother. Better than being his son, but still it should have been like a cold water hose to his libido. Pity it hadn’t been.

Closing his eyes he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was going to go in there, into Val’s room, it was inevitable. Even if it was just because he wouldn't sleep if he didn't. That was something else that had changed. Before all this, he'd always slept like the dead, out cold, usually thanks to heavy food and alcohol. He still did, as long as Val was home, safe and sound, whether he was with someone or not. Otherwise, like some paranoid, over protective parent, he wouldn't get a wink until he heard those light, rhythmic footsteps on deck, no matter how much vodka he’d tipped down his throat. He blamed Trippi for getting himself shot, for making Valentine a target, for freaking them all out. 

He should have thrown Val out when he’d threatened to. Trust Lou to throw a spanner in the works by revealing the truth about them having the same father. The thought alone made him shudder for all sorts of reasons.

He turned to his right and slowly opened the steel door, as quietly as he could, to peer inside.

‘Valentine?’

The kid's face was a mess: cuts and fresh bruises, blood and tears mixing with kohl and mascara. His shirt was torn, although for all Backstrom knew it was supposed to be like that. He was sitting amongst the covers and sheets on the unmade bed, his back against the hull, knees pulled up, rocking back and forth. When he lifted his head and their eyes caught, he swiped at his face with the back of his hand and what was left of Everett’s abused heart cracked in two.

Anything Backstrom did was going to tip the already fragile balance of their long-established relationship, upset the hard-won peace. Then again, it had already been changed; by Lou’s revelation, by his own ridiculous and clearly warped imagination. So he sat awkwardly on the bed and put an arm around shoulders that were surprisingly narrow, unsurprisingly shaking.

‘What happened?’ He was talking to the side of Valentine’s head, trying not to breathe in the scent of apple shampoo and sweat. ’Tell me.’

‘I changed my mind.’ 

Everett understood immediately. He just didn't want to because the idea made him see red. ‘Who was it?’

Valentine sniffed and shrugged. ‘Just some… guy.’

‘You know his name?’

A choke on a bitter laugh. ‘No. I know what he told me. But it wasn’t… wasn’t his name.’

He didn't want to mention it, but he had to. He’d read it in a manual somewhere. ‘I should get you to a hospital, get someone to run a rape kit.’

The laugh was much more bitter that time, too cynical, too world-weary for a man Valentine's age. ‘No. Okay? I just… just need a shower. This isn’t the first time, remember?’

It was impossible to forget. They all had their bogeymen but Valentine’s was real. If he hadn't been dead already, Everett would have made sure he was at least rotting in jail, at best rotting in the ground, even if he couldn't admit to where this new found desire for revenge was coming from.

He knew he should insist about the hospital at least but he couldn't bring himself to put his his brother through that. He was going to find the guy who did this, and when he did, he wasn’t going to need evidence. 

‘Okay.’

It wasn't until Valentine pushed the sheets away to shuffle off the bed, that Everett saw his legs were bare, that he was naked from the waist down, and realised what that meant.

He almost exploded. ’Here?! It happened here?!’

On his feet now, Valentine rounded on him. ‘Don’t. Just… don’t.' His voice cracked, fresh tears in his eyes, 'Please. I don’t need you going all Iron Man on me, okay? I just need a shower, vodka and sleep.’

Deep breath. Swallowing the anger wasn't easy but he let it pool inside him, saved for later. ‘Fine.’

Following Valentine out of the room, he stopped short of going into the shower with him. Instead he poured a double vodka, dumped in some ice - Val preferred his alcohol in a glass - and sat with his ass on the edge of the table, his back against a stack of boxed PS4s, to listen to the water running and not imagine Valentine battered and bruised (and naked) under it. To wait.

It felt like hours, the hot water had to have run out some time back, and he was ten seconds from barging in, imagination running wild, when the shower stopped. He couldn't remember if he’d left a towel on the rail but he must have done because a couple of minutes later Valentine emerged wrapped in it, took the glass from his hands without a word and headed straight for his room.

Working out what was going on in other people’s heads was his job, and he had always been able to read Valentine as easily as a wank mag, but tonight he was closed off, understandably, making it more difficult, making the whole situation more exhausting. Backstrom gazed at his chair and thought he should just get some sleep. Valentine survived his abduction alone, he didn't doubt he could survive this. But the idea that he didn't have to, that Everett could actually be there for him this time, was horribly seductive. 

Finally he made his decision and took a swig of vodka from the bottle before going back into Valentine’s room. The door was still open. 

He was curled up on the edge of his bed, wrapped in his black robe and tangled up in the sheets. The glass was empty on the floor.

Backstrom wasn't sure what to do with himself until Valentine reached one arm back and impatiently tapped the bed behind him. It was an invitation of sorts, and with a frown Everett put down the bottle, kicked off his shoes, and crawled over the mattress until he was lying with his back against the wall. He realised with some surprise that it had been a while since he’d slept in an actual bed and for a few minutes he adjusted to lying on his side on something comfortable. Valentine was a knot of tension and warmth in front of him in the semi-darkness, and it could have been minutes, could have been hours, but eventually he heard soft snores and was glad one of them had found some peace. He curled his fingers into his palm before tentatively reaching out to rest one hand in the curve below the sharp point of Val’s hip. That simple touch alone seemed to be enough for his subconscious, and finally he succumbed to sleep.

~

When he woke it seemed lighter, although there wasn't a porthole in the room and the only light was coming from the boat’s interior through the open door. Valentine hadn't moved, still curled on his side, his back to Everett.

He checked that his hands were nowhere inappropriate and that his morning erection wasn't anywhere near his brother. Then he carefully slid down until he was able to climb off the end of the bed. 

The water in the shower was cold - Valentine had used all the hot the previous night and the tank hadn't had time to refill - but it at least dampened down the strange urges of his treacherous body. A change of clothes and two mugs of black coffee later, he was starting to feel like an actual human being when Valentine emerged from his room. 

He had his arms wrapped around himself, his face looked like someone had used it as a punchbag, and the cut across his lips probably needed stitches, but he looked more like himself. He was much more of a morning person than Backstom. 

‘Are you okay?’ It was a stupid question but he couldn't think of anything better right at that moment. Valentine nodded and raised one corner of his mouth in an uncertain smile.

‘Thanks for staying with me.’ 

Backstrom didn't want to acknowledge that. He handed over a mug of lukewarm coffee that Valentine hugged to his chest. ‘I want you to come to the station with me. I want you to describe the bastard who raped you to Paquet. Then she's going to find him and I’m going to hurt him.’

Valentine sighed softly and rolled his eyes. There was a hint of his usual humour in his expression. ‘My knight in shining armour.’

‘No one messes with my family.’

‘Just because we’re related, you don’t have to play big brother. Trying to live by a mantra doesn't suit you. You don’t need to protect me from the big, bad world, I know all about it first hand and I’m still here. I don’t need a saviour or whatever it is you’re attempting to be.’

‘Is there anything you do need?’ He was careful to keep his tone mildly playful. 

Valentine nodded. ‘I would like you to catch him. He might do it to someone else less… equipped to deal with it.’

‘I’ll find him. I promise.’

~

Valentine spent the day in Backstrom’s office while the team made a fuss over him. He gave Paquet a very detailed description of the man who wouldn’t stop when he said no, and both Paquet and Niedermayer made him the same promise Everett had, before going out and bringing back vanilla coffee and doughnuts.

Backstrom rolled his eyes and tried to play the sarcastic, grumpy bastard they expected him to be, but he knew he wasn’t quite pulling it off, and by lunchtime even Gravely was looking at him like he’d a rescued a puppy from a burning building. There was only so much sickly sweet feeling he could take, and he was relieved when they got a call to a break in and dead body at a club in one of Portland’s seedier districts. It was a place Valentine probably knew well but Backstrom didn't even ask, left him reading a battered old paperback on his window ledge.

It was late when they got back. Forensics were still at the scene but the body had been shipped off to the morgue and Backstrom had photos. They picked up pizza on the way back and made a lot of noise dispersing into their space again, which woke Valentine who'd been napping on Backstrom’s couch. By the time Everett stepped inside, he was sitting up, rubbing sleep from dark eyes. He cast a glance over his brother - half-brother - attempting to be surreptitious although he apparently failed miserably.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Liar.’

‘I’m… okay.’

‘Better. There’s pizza if you’re still hungry after all those doughnuts.’

They ate out on the fire escape, Niedermayer and Paquet squashed into one window, Gravely and Moto on the other, Backstrom on his favourite step with Valentine two steps down using the side of his right leg as a cushion. He knew he should have pushed the cheeky bugger away by now, told him to use Niedermayer as a back rest, but the warmth was nice and so was the proximity, even if his team kept glancing at them in ways he chose to ignore. Eventually, though, a remark from Niedermayer had him extracting himself, making an excuse about reviewing evidence from the crime scene. 

The photos were fanned out on his desk when Valentine slid back in through the window. Backstrom imagined Val would retreat back to the couch but instead he leaned over, chest against Everett's back, hands either side of him to lean on the arms of his chair. 

'I know him.' The first time, the words were lost on him. Valentine had always been physical, he crowded in on everyone's personal space, especially men he fancied; Niedermayer for instance, who, luckily, was confident enough in his own sexuality (whatever that might be) not to mind. He just wasn’t usually like that with Everett.

Not moving a muscle, he managed to squeak, 'What?'

Which led to Val pressing closer in order to tap the photo of the dead man with one long, elegant finger. ‘I know him.' He was quiet, subdued. 'His name's David Peake. He is - was - a drug dealer, and before you jump off into the deep end, he wasn't my drug dealer because I don't do that shit anymore.'

Whatever response he was going to make was lost when Valentine rested the side of his head against Everett's just for a moment before stepping back and heading for the couch. It took him a second to find it again. 

'So... how do you know him?'

'A friend was dating him for a while, until he found out what I just told you. Then he ended it.’

‘This friend… might he be the stabby type?’ He watched Valentine press the knuckle of his thumb into his eye and knew he must be hurting. ‘You should go to the hospital. I should have taken you.’

‘I’m fine. And yes… Ash can be… violent.’ 

Something in his tone…. ‘Has he ever been violent against you?’

‘…no.’

‘You paused.’

‘Because if I say yes he might not make it into custody with all his bones intact.’

‘You’re the one who broke Trippi’s jaw!’

‘And you’re the one going medieval on anyone who even looks at me funny.’ He lifted his head. ‘I don’t lead a safe life. You need to get used to that idea. I can look after myself.’ 

‘You’re a survivor. It means you deal with the crap hands after you’ve been dealt them. Looking after yourself means knocking the cards away from the dealer before they land on the table.’

‘Can you stop speaking in metaphor?’

‘Haven’t you ever considered self defence classes?’

Valentine’s chuckle was as close to him being his old self as he’d come in the last twenty-four hours. ‘How do you think I broke Trippi’s jaw while three of his goons pinned me down? And his was by no means the first. You live my life, you learn self defence. Most of it, I admit, is from trial and error when I was on the streets, but I promise you, I can get out of most bad situations.’

‘So what happened last night?’

‘He was stronger than me, a lot stronger. I told Nadia, I think he was a bodybuilder. He might even be on steroids.’

Backstrom gathered the photos up and pushed his chair back. ’He’ll be on morphine by the time I’ve finished with him.’

‘You see? This is exactly what I’m talking about!’

‘I need an address for this Ash guy. And I need you to stay here until I get back. Okay?’

‘Fine.’ He sounded reluctant, but Everett guessed he hadn’t been about to go home alone. Not tonight.

~

He and Almond dragged Ashley Waters back an hour later. He screamed police harassment all the way out of his rundown apartment building, screamed threats at the two of them from the back of the squad car all the way to the station, and finally confessed as he was walked through the corridors to the interview room, shouting to everyone that David deserved to die for cheating on him. When he caught sight of Valentine through the open door of the office, he yelled at him too, blaming him for his getting caught.

From his place, prone on the couch, Val just kicked the door shut and Backstrom laughed. He wasn’t often proud of his brother but at that moment he felt a swell of emotion that was worryingly close to happiness. 

He got coffee and planned to let Niedermayer do the interview, but when he went to find him he wasn’t at his desk.

‘He got a call about a possible location for the man who attacked Valentine.’ Nadia informed him. ‘He took Moto.’

Everett glanced at the closed door of his office and went to do the interview with Waters himself.

He didn’t ask for a lawyer. He didn’t try to deny his earlier, spontaneous confession. He was proud of what he’d done. In the end, Backstrom didn’t even do his ‘I am you’ piece. He formally charged him and called for a couple of uniforms to take him to holding. It took half an hour, tops, but by the time he got out, Niedermayer had a Paul Morgan in custody, a man who matched Valentine’s description perfectly.

For a few minutes, Backstrom stared at him from the observation room. Then he stepped inside the interrogation room and stared at him from the chair opposite. All the time without saying a word.

Morgan was twice Backstrom’s size, muscles like Van Damme in his prime, little wonder Val hadn’t been able to fight his way out from under him.

‘What the hell are you staring at, cop? You fancy me or something? Are you thinking about playing really bad cop?’

Backstrom sat forward. ‘I am you. I’m a big queer who likes pretty boys. No one says no to me, because I’m built like a brick shit house. But when they do, I beat them and rape them in their own beds because I’m a fucking coward who can’t face rejection.’

‘I’m no rapist, cop. Guys love me, they want me. When they say no, they just mean harder.’

Backstrom barked, a harsh sound. ‘Is that your defence? Good luck in court.’

‘You’ve no proof I raped anyone.’

He grinned without humour. ‘That barge you went aboard last night with your cute trick? That’s my barge. He’s my brother. And I’m going to make sure you spend the next five years getting everything you deserve up against the bars of your cell.’

Stepping out into the corridor he put his head around the door into the observation room where his assembled team were looking guilty. ‘If anyone tells Valentine I called him cute, you’ll answer to me.’

Closing the door of his office behind him, he considered letting Valentine just sleep, but that would mean spending the night at the station and he wanted to go home. Crouching down in front of the couch, he laid a hand on Val’s shoulder and squeezed gently.

‘Hey. Wake up.’

When he opened his eyes, Everett saw the redness and regretted his decision. Valentine looked around as he sat up.

‘What’s happening?’ 

‘I need you to identify the asshole from last night.’

‘You’ve found him?’ There was a mix of relief and panic in his voice and in his expression, and Backstrom was reaching out before he knew it, hand landing uncertainly on Val’s leg.

‘Niedermayer and Moto brought him in. He won’t see you. You’ll be looking at him through the two-way mirror. He won’t even know you’re there.’

After a deep breath, Val nodded. ‘Okay.’

Gravely and Paquet were still in the observation room, staring daggers at Morgan even through he couldn’t see them, and Backstrom saw Paquet’s hand settle on Valentine’s back as he shuffled into the room, all his usual bravado gone. He placed his hand against the glass and tapped his index finger against it before turning his hand and flipping Morgan the bird. When there was absolutely no reaction from the man cuffed to the table in the adjoining room, Valentine nodded. 

‘That’s him.’

Paquet dropped her head to Val’s shoulder and he rested his on hers, sighing softly when she put her arm around him and hugged him. Determined not to act like a possessive dick in the middle of the station, Backstrom gave them a second then tapped Valentine on the back.

‘Come on, Casanova, home time. It’s been a busy day catching bad guys.’

~

With Morgan charged and held in jail, Backstrom hoped things would get back to normal. But they stubbornly refused to. Valentine stayed in for the next three nights, drinking beer with Everett and watching crap shows on their crappy television. On the fourth night, Backstrom was called out to an impressively baffling diamond robbery. By the time he got back in the early hours of the morning, his early 1980s analogue box had been replaced by a 40 inch, 3D flatscreen with two pairs of 3D glasses, a blu-ray player and a collection of 3D movies. The boxes for it all were stacked against his chair, receipts stapled to the relevant packaging, and a note on top of the television which read, ‘Thank you, V x’.

The following night they watched The Expendables 3 in 3D (Backstrom’s choice) followed by Prometheus (Valentine’s choice). Valentine pulled up a more comfortable chair next to Everett’s and curled up in it with six beers at their feet. Eventually he leaned his head against Backstrom’s arm and stayed there for most of the discovery of the origins of human beings. By the time the screaming started, Valentine had one socked foot wrapped over Backstrom’s ankle, right leg over his left. Maybe if they hadn’t started on the vodka after they’d finished the beers, Everett would have pushed him away. Then again maybe not; he was losing count of the number of times he should have pushed him away in the last couple of weeks.

It used to be easy to go on the attack, to give Valentine something to rail against. But God help him, he liked this amnesty between them. He liked the intimacy.

He hated the movies. At least the one with all the muscles had explosions and didn’t require any investment, mental, emotional or otherwise. Val was enraptured. Prometheus was boring, which meant he was forced to concentrate on the warmth of another human being close to him.

In a quiet moment between people running and people dying, he heard Val ask, ’Do I really need to find somewhere else to live?’ 

Backstrom rolled his eyes upwards and shook his head. ‘No.’

‘This can be my home too?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thank you.’

Val curled his arm through Everett’s, cuddling closer, and he made a show of trying to shake him off. ‘You’re like a limpet,’ he accused, and Valentine grinned and clung on.

~

They had a string of hot days and the heat made people crazy. At the end of it, with four people in holding and another two parked in the interrogation rooms, Backstrom took a sandwich and a bottle into his office and demanded no one disturbed him for thirty minutes. Paquet apparently didn’t hear him, knocking on his door after ten and letting herself in.

‘If the building isn’t on fire, I have another twenty minutes,’ he muttered, too tired to put any anger behind it. He’d had barely six hours’ sleep in three days and thought if he shut his eyes he might not wake up for twenty-four hours. 

‘Valentine was here this morning, looking for you.’

‘What did he want?’ It wasn’t as difficult as it had been recently to sound gruff about it.

‘He didn’t say.’

‘How did he seem?’ he had to ask.

‘He seemed like his usual self.’

‘Good.’ He glanced at his watch. He didn’t know if it was AM or PM. ‘I need to go home.’

 

He finally managed to get there four hours later, pounding down the metal steps into the bowels of the barge. ‘Valentine?’ Stopping, he listened for signs his brother was home but there was just silence. 

The door of Valentine’s room was ajar and he pushed it open, peered inside. The bed was messy but there was no one in it. Clearly he was out. Backstrom wondered if he’d sleep anyway. Every nerve ending ached. He considered lying down in Val’s room, but then if he came home with a guy and was otherwise engrossed, he might not check his bed was empty before they dropped onto it. In the end he turned out the lights and lay down on the pallet hanging from the ceiling, pulling the blankets over him, closing his eyes and listening to the creaks and groans of the barge. 

He didn’t know if he’d slept or not when footsteps woke him, and he opened his eyes, staring into the darkness, hearing sounds that were undoubtedly Valentine. After seven years he knew his tenant’s habits and knew he was alone. He would fill a glass with water, maybe find himself a low fat snack if he’d had a busy night. Everett’s eyes adjusted to the dark and he could see Val illuminated by the fridge light.

‘Hey,’ he called across quietly, and Val straightened. ‘You okay?’

‘Yes.’ He closed the fridge and it all went dark again for a few seconds. He padded over, drinking water, stopping a foot from the pallet. 

Backstrom sat up carefully. ‘You came to the office.’

He shrugged. ‘I was just looking for company.’ He was telling the truth. ‘I’m fine, I promise.’ 

‘Okay.’ But he wasn’t going away. ‘What?’

‘Do you want to sleep in my bed?’

Yes. Yes he did. He shouldn’t, but then again he did a lot of things he shouldn’t. He sighed, made it seem like a favour, and swung his legs around, dropping down. ‘Lead the way.’

 

Val’s bed was infinitely more comfortable than the pallet but still Backstrom couldn’t sleep. Valentine had fallen asleep on his back with his face turned away, his fingers slack against the back of Backstrom’s hand. 

He didn’t know what the hell he was doing. When his mind had wandered to his tenant in the past, he’d invariably been drunk, in need of a familiar face, and longing for the touch of someone who at least knew him and liked him enough to stick around. Valentine was just the right side of feminine to count among the very short list of people who fitted that description, and Lou had been on the mark when she’d said they were good for one another. Despite the petty rows and the irritations, they got on.

The problem was that finding out Valentine was his half-brother had done little to dampen his unspecific, few and far between musings. If anything, finding out they were both Blue’s kids had fired up more feelings inside him. Val was quite honestly the only family Backstrom had that he gave a stuff about, and that surge of protectiveness had brought with it a worrying streak of possessiveness and even moments of propriety. As often as he wanted to put his hands around Valentine’s throat and squeeze some sense into him, he also wanted to hold him close and keep him away from the mad, bad world that already had its claws deep in him. 

He found it almost impossible now to think about Val’s time in juvie, his time on the streets, his time in the hands of the sadist who’d taken him and held him captive for three days, without feeling murderous. There was no one to take revenge on for any of it, except maybe Blue, and to do that he’d have to tell him. Blue didn’t deserve Val in his life in completely the opposite way that Val didn’t deserve Blue. He’d had enough shit in his too few years to last a lifetime, he deserved more good, not bad. 

If only all this had displaced the other stuff, and not made it worse. Valentine wasn’t helping by getting touchy-feely all of a sudden. In the past, whenever anyone had tried to get close, Val had shut down, wrapped his arms around himself and tried to disappear into the shadows. Now, though, he was reaching out to Everett, basking in the continued sympathy of the women on his team, if not the men, and knowing they were brothers meant even Almond and Moto were warming to him. Then there was Niedermayer… Everett still had no idea, despite his affair with Paquet, whether Valentine stood a chance of getting the man into bed or not. One thing he did know was that if he ever caught them doing anything, Niedermayer was fired.

'I can hear your big genius brain working from here. You've barely slept in seventy two hours, give it a rest and go to sleep.' 

He sighed loudly. 'Can't.' 

'Why?' 

'You.' He closed his eyes. Obviously his mental customs officers were on a cigarette break.  

As expected, Valentine rolled over to face him, tucking his hand under his head and regarding him through the gloom.  

'Me? Was I snoring?' 

It was a curious question. 'No. I think that guy who makes you wear that strip on your nose has a kink.' 

'He has more than one. So, why am I keeping you awake?' 

Because you're my brother and I think about you sometimes in ways that are definitely not brotherly. He didn't say that. He wasn't absolutely sure Valentine had any more morals than he did when it came to sex, but he was sure he wasn’t having similar thoughts. 

‘I’m worried about you.’

‘Worried about me?’

‘When I asked you to stop storing stolen property on the barge, that was to stop you getting me fired. I haven’t done anything to stop you getting yourself killed.’

Valentine rolled his eyes and flopped down onto his back again. ‘You promised you wouldn’t stick your nose into my business.’

‘There’s a difference between interfering in any legitimate dealings you might have and illegal deals you make with men who’ll happily shoot you in the head and dump your body on the deck when things go wrong.’

When Val turned back to look at him, Everett would have sworn he licked his lips. Probably just his mind playing tricks. He was tired, his brain was fried. His stupid body wanted sex and alcohol more than it wanted sleep. It didn’t know what was good for it.

‘I’d make a beautiful corpse.’

‘Shut up.’

Val smiled that know-it-all smile that made Backstrom want to slap him. Or put him over his knee and spank him. Christ. Then he did something utterly unexpected, reached across the narrow space between them and pressed his fingers through Everett’s. 

‘I can look after myself,’ he murmured, facing away again. ‘Stop worrying. Go to sleep.’

Backstrom didn’t try to untangle their hands, even when his fingers got sweaty.

~

A week later he was called to a robbery gone bad at a jewellers, two doors down from a second hand DVD store. He bought a stack of old movies and took them home at a reasonable hour with a six pack and a pizza. He was half way through the original Terminator movie when the door of Valentine’s room squeaked on its hinges, almost giving him a heart attack.

‘I didn’t even know you were home….’ He was glad he’d finished the pizza and was between beers, otherwise both might have ended up on the floor. 

The sight of Valentine standing butt naked in the kitchen wasn’t an unusual one. They shared a small space, they only had one towel. But it was the way he was standing, with purpose, focused entirely on Backstrom, which was different.

And scary. This was Valentine in full seduction mode, and that wasn't something he'd ever seen or had ever expected to see. 

He let his eyes drift down and instantly regretted it. Valentine’s erection was impressive, the likes of which Backstrom hadn't achieved in some time. The joys of youth, he supposed, and although it had never really been a mystery how Val pulled so many men, he could honestly say he understood why they stayed the night.

‘What….’ was all he managed before Valentine was across the floor and kicking his foot stool out of the way, straddling his legs, smiling and getting comfortable across Everett's thighs. He tucked his knees into the chair either side of him, forcing him to fasten his hands to the plastic arms and imagine them glued there in case he accidentally touched something he shouldn't. 

'The night you tried to kick me out, Lou said it was because you were disappointed I wasn't your son. It took me a while, but I finally realised that wasn't it. You were scared I was your son, you didn't believe her, you thought it was possible and having sexual thoughts about your son is too kinky even for you.'

‘Wrong, is the word you're looking for.' Again, he knew the right thing would be to push Valentine away, but that would mean touching and there was so much bare, smooth flesh to choose from. He was terrified that once he put his his hands on him he wouldn't be able to get them off.

'But when she told us we were half-bothers, you let me stay, because that wasn't so bad. That you could live with and still have naughty thoughts about me.'

'I'm not a gay.’ It sounded pathetic even to him.

'You have absolutely no idea how many times I've heard that from a guy, twenty seconds before he starts sucking my dick.'

‘I am not sucking anything....'

Valentine shook his head. 'I know. What I want to know is you do want to do. I can’t decide. Do you want to watch while someone else sucks me? Fucks me?' His stare was like a laser beam and Everett thanked a deity he didn’t believe in that he was was too petrified to have an erection. 'No. That’s not it. You don't like the idea of me being submissive. You prefer to imagine me on top.’

'Val... this is a very, very bad idea.'

'Haven't you been thinking about me? For however long it's been?’

Years. Too many for even him to admit to with his deeply questionable morals. 'I don't fantasise about you.'

'That isn't what I said.' Valentine shifted on Everett's lap and he couldn’t stop his eyes from straying downwards. 'Does it look the same as yours now?'

'No.' It was darker, harder, slightly thicker. He swallowed and blanked the sudden, vivid image of some trick gagging on it in a dark corner of a club. Valentine's hands settled on his shoulders and his head shot up. 'You're not attracted to me. What are you doing?'

'Experimenting. You do know we missed the siblings experimenting with one another thing, right? Kids do that.'

'I didn't with my brothers, I can promise you. And we're too old.’ Valentine threw back his head and laughed. Backstrom supposed he deserved that. If anything, it was good to see him happy again, confident, his vivacious self that had been missing since Paul Morgan who didn't take no for an answer. ‘You know you don't actually want me.'

'I care about you. I can count on one hand the number of people I can say that about, never mind the men I’ve… rumbled with.’ 

'I'm your brother.'

‘Half-brother. And that's a new thing for us, it isn't like we grew up together. It isn’t like you can get me pregnant.'

'You want me to....' His voice rose to a squeak but he couldn't even finish the sentence. 

'No. I told you, I want to know what you want, what you've been thinking about all these years.'

With a sigh, Backstrom tried to relax a fraction, letting his eyes roam but staying above the waist. He’d never seen the detailed tattoos up close before, the ink that covered the cigarette burns. They were beautiful in their own way because they’d helped save him. Everett imagined a lot of men had thought the same without knowing why they were there, yet still felt a tug of jealousy, not because they'd had Valentine, but because they'd been free to, allowed to. 

Valentine rolled his eyes, leaned forward, and Backstrom tried to suck in his stomach when the hard erection pressed into it. Warm hands cupped his face and he closed his eyes when Val dropped his forehead down, mouth half an inch from Everett's so he felt the shape of the words,

'Do you want me to kiss you?'

No. But that was a lie too. He'd watched Valentine kiss other men with passion and desire, and wanted to know what that felt like. When he raised his head to actually say no, the word itself refused to come out, and Val chose to misinterpret his movement. He started almost tentatively, taking little tastes of Everett’s lips, kissing the corners of his mouth, followed up by sliding the tip of his tongue across the curve and opening his mouth. Backstrom mirrored the action and Valentine slipped inside, firms strokes along the edge of his tongue and across his palate. He groaned. He hadn't meant to but no one had kissed him like that before, with genuine care and purpose. 

Valentine pulled back an inch and kissed the tip of his nose. 'Put your hands on me.'

He had a flashback to the first time he'd had sex, with a girl called Mindy in her father's fishing cabin. He was acting like a virgin. He lifted his hands from the arms of the chair and meant only to hold Val loosely, deciding the best place was up on his rib cage. But one thumb accidentally brushed a pebble-hard nipple and Val made a sound, low and sexy as hell. Backstrom wanted to hear it again. He brushed the other nipple, then both at the same time, deliberately. Val really liked that. Heart pounding against his rib cage, hoping to God he didn't have a heart attack because he didn't want to explain this to anyone, he let his fingers roam Val's back, tracing random patterns on warm skin. 

With a smile Everett felt rather than saw, Valentine tipped his head to kiss him again, taking his time, every lick of his tongue going straight to Everett's dick now that his conscience had been effectively gagged by his libido. 

When Backstrom’s fingers reached the swell of Val's ass, he moved his hands around to settle on his belly, not hard but not soft either. A perfect middle ground. He dipped the tip of one thumb into Val's navel and he squirmed slightly, brushing the tip of his cock against Everett's hand, and reminding him they really shouldn't be doing this.

He just couldn't remember why, right at that moment. Until Val pulled at his collar and murmured, 'Take this off.'

Then he remembered. He stilled his hands around Valentine's waist. 'No.'

'Why not?'

'You don't find me sexually attractive, remember?'

Val glanced down between them then back up. 'Maybe not on the surface, but don't underestimate the value of love and trust. You want me.'

Backstrom tried to speak, failed and swallowed, determined to find his voice. 'I love you.’ No more than a whisper. He could feel those long fingers in his hair, nails gentle against his scalp. Val closed his eyes and when he opened them again they were wet with unshed tears.

His voice, though, was steady. 'Do you want to watch while I touch myself?' Everett nodded, not trusting himself to answer truthfully. 'Don't let go of me.'

Valentine sat up, one hand still on Everett's shoulder, fingers against his neck. Everett drew his hands slowly up over Val's rib cage and brushed his nipples again, harder, catching the left with his thumbnail. Val moaned, a sound so purely sexual that Backstrom almost changed his mind about being barely more than a voyeur. Then again, if he was going to play that role…. He looked down and found himself staring at the neatly trimmed, narrow strip of dark pubic hair, Val’s long fingers wrapped around his cock, tight grip twisting on the upstroke, just the way he himself jerked off. That image, the idea of Val's hand doing that to him, was going to haunt him for the rest of his life. Then his mind presented him with a home movie version of Val doing this while riding some guy’s cock, and his dick pulsed in his pants.

Valentine was far too gone to notice; head back, mouth open, rocking to his own rhythm. Everett wondered if he dared lean forward, get his lips, his teeth around one nipple and bite just so, just gently enough that he’d…. Val came, surprisingly quiet, shudders moving through his body in waves so strong Backstrom felt them, under his hands, through his legs. Then Val slumped forward, head on Everett’s chest, and he wrapped his arms around him, spreading his hands across his back, dropping a chaste kiss into his ridiculous hair.

They stayed like that for some time, Everett’s dick was still half-hard, trapped under Val’s weight, but not so he felt like doing anything about it.

‘I think this is what I want,’ he admitted eventually.

After a pause, a sleepy voice asked, ’What?’ 

‘To hug you.’ He could hear surprise in his own tone.

Valentine sat up slowly. ’With or without my clothes on?’ He shifted and put his feet on the floor. Blood rushed back into Everett’s legs. He didn’t know the answer to that one. Val smiled and put his hand out. ‘Come to bed.’

‘Me and you in your room? That isn’t going to become habit.’ But he was already half out of the chair, cautiously checking his legs were going to hold him. He caught Valentine’s hand and let himself be led.

 

When his phone called out, ‘work’ at some God awful time just after sunrise, Backstrom was splayed out on Valentine’s bed, flat on his back, snoring, still fully clothed. Valentine was lying on his front, face pressed into Everett’s side, an arm flung over his chest, a leg hooked over his left one. Backstrom’s arms were around him, and they both slept like the dead until, an hour after the phone collected three urgent messages, Gravely started banging on the barge door. At which point, neither of them had ever woken so quickly in their lives.


End file.
